Sculpted Angel
by iwantsprezzatura
Summary: "And if you had to kill a thousand men?" - "The phantom of the opera would kill and kill again!" - "There is no phantom of the opera!" Musicalverse. OC-point of view. - please read
1. Hannibal

**This story grew in my head and refused to leave until I had written it down... I am aware that a lot of this chapter is directly copied from the musical, but I promise that, even though this story will follow the musical, there will be more original scenes.**

**I apologize for any linguistic mistakes, but I'm not a native English speaker, so I ask you to bear with me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, characters, original lyrics or dialogue.**

* * *

"Once again, then, if you please."

I worked hard to hide my smirk at the sound of Reyer's voice. It seemed he still wouldn't let up.

"Sad to return," he ordered.

"This way, gentlemen, Mademoiselle, this way. Rehearsals, as you see, are under way for a new production of Chalumeau's 'Hannibal'."

We entered the stage to find the rehearsal at a hiatus. The male lead, a rather round man in the costume of Hannibal, was muttering to himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Monsieur Lefevre announced, "Some of you may already, perhaps, have met Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin-"

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Lefevre," Reyer interrupted, "We are rehearsing."

"My apologies, Monsieur Reyer. Proceed, proceed..."

"Thank you, Monsieur. 'Sad to return...', Signor."

"Monsieur Reyer," Lefevre said to Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. "Our chief repetiteur. Rather a tyrant, I'm afraid."

"He's a perfectionist," I offered. "Nothing tyrannical about him."

The ballet girls hurried on stage while Monsieur Lefevre indicated Hannibal.

"Signor Piangi," he informed, "Our principal tenor. He does play so opposite La Carlotta."

I snorted. "So you still haven't got rid of her?"

Monsieur Lefevre turned to me, frowning disapprovingly but didn't get to say anything as we were interrupted by the banging of a can to the stage.

"Gentlemen! Mademoiselle, please! If you would kindly move to one side!"

"My apologies, Madame Giry," I quipped at once, skipping over to where we had come from.

"Madame Giry, our ballet mistress," Lefevre informed the two men. "I don't mind confessing, Monsieur Firmin, I shan't be sorry to be rid of the whole blessed business."

"I keep asking you, Monsieur, why exactly are you retiring?"

Lefevre ignored him and turned to the dancers again. "We take a particular pride here in the excellence of our ballets. Therefore, we have decided to create a post for a choreographer..." He nodded to me. "Madame Giry's teaching and her technique are formidable, but..."

"Who's that girl, Lefevre?"

We all looked to the girl Monsieur Andre indicated.

"Meg Giry," I said. "Madame Giry's daughter."

"Promising dancer," Lefevre added. "Monsieur Andre, most promising."

"_The trumpeting elephants sound,  
__Hear, Romans, now and tremble!  
__Hark to their step on the ground,  
__Hear the drums!  
__Hannibal comes!"__  
_

The last bit of music faded as the scene ended.

"Thank you, thank you – half an hour and we're doing this all again," Monsieur Reyer called out.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lefevre started, but no one paid much attention to him as the large elephant puppet was led off stage. "Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and – Madame Giry, please."

Madame Giry forcefully banged her can to the floor, catching everyone's attention at once.

"Thank you, Madame. May I have your attention, please? As you know, for some weeks there have been rumours of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce you the two gentlemen who now own the Opéra Populaire, Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Gilles Andre... and of course, our new choreographer, Mademoiselle Amélie Bonnet, who is now returning to us."

After a rather loud 'concealed' cough, Monsieur Lefevre hurried to add, "Yes, gentlemen, Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, our leading soprano for five seasons now."

"Of course, of course," Monsieur Andre hurried to say. "I have experienced all your greatest roles, Signora... if I remember rightly, Elissa has a rather fine aria in Act Tree of Hannibal. I wonder, Signora, if, as a personal favour, you would oblige us with a private rendition? Unless, of course, Monsieur Reyer objects..."  
I rolled my eyes. Who really wanted to hear that toad sing?

"My manager commands," Carlotta smiled. "Monsieur Reyer?"

"My diva commands. Will two bars be sufficient introduction?"

"Two bars will be quite sufficient," Monsieur Firmin cackled.

"Signora?"

"Maestro...

_Think of me,  
__Think of me fondly,  
__When we've said goodbye.  
__Remember me,  
__Once in a while –  
__Please, promise me you'll try!  
__When you find,  
__That once again,  
__You long to take your heart-"__  
_

With a loud crash, the backdrop came rushing to the floor. Carlotta screamed loudly as it nearly hit her and her scream was accompanied by the terrified cries of the ballet girls.

"He's here!" Meg Giry exclaimed. "_The phantom of the opera!_"

In the chaos, Piangi rushed over to Carlotta, trying to comfort her while Meg continued her hysterics.

"_He's there... the phantom of the opera!_"

All the while, my eyes searched the high passageways, looking for the shadow that I was sure was there; the shadow that had loosened the ropes; the phantom of the opera, indeed.

"Buquet! Where is Buquet? Get that man down here!"

"Who is Buquet?" Monsieur Andre whispered to me and I shrugged.

"Probably the chief of the flies."

The drop rose again and we all looked up to see an elderly stagehand leaning over the rail.

"Buquet!" Monsieur Lefevre called, clearly enraged. "For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?"

"_Please monsieur,  
__Don't look at me:  
__as God's my witness,  
__I was not at my post.__  
_

_Please monsieur,  
__There's no one there:  
__and if there is, well,  
__Then it must be a ghost."__  
_

"He's there," Meg exclaimed again. "_The phantom of the opera!"_

"Good heavens! Will you show a little courtesy?" Monsieur Andre growled. "Please, Signora," he added gesturing to help Carlotta up from where she was still sitting on the stage. "These things do happen."

"Si! These things do happen! For three years these things do happen!" she exclaimed furiously.

I sighed heavily. Carlotta had always been known to throw her fair shares of tantrums. While most cowered from her rage, it only bored me. Her little fits were nothing. Nothing compared to the tantrums other habitants of this opera could throw...

"Well, until you stop these things happening, this thing does not happen! Ubaldo! Andiamo!"

She hurried off, Piangi following her like a loyal dog. "Amateurs," he hissed as he passed his new managers.

I, as many other, watched as the two Italians took off and then turned back to the managers.

"Well, then," Monsieur Lefevre said. "I don't think there's much more to assist you, gentlemen. Good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Frankfurt."

He hurried off stage and Monsieur Firmin reached up to wipe sweat from his bald head. He only slowly became aware of the eyes locked on him, clearly waiting for orders. "La Carlotta will be back," he said finally.

"You think so, Messieurs?" Madame Giry asked, but didn't bother to wait for any reply. "I have a message, Sir, from the Opera Ghost."

"God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!" Monsieur Firmin exclaimed, while my gaze shot upstage again; was he still there, watching?

I had arrived last night, counting on him to greet me; after all, he was the one who wanted me to come back here. Admittedly, he wasn't known for his sociable nature, but some sort of welcome was still to be expected!

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary?" Monsieur Firmin repeated incredulously.

"Monsieur Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month," Madame Giry explained. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte de Chagny as your patron."

I raised an eyebrow at her at this news. Very good news, indeed, for this opera house... Surely, if he learnt this, he would order them to pay more. It was _his_ opera, after all.

"Madame, I had hoped to have made that announcement myself," Monsieur Andre said, rather disgruntled.

"Will the Vicomte be at the performance tonight, Monsieur?"

"In our box," Monsieur Firmin informed.

"Madame, who is the understudy for this role?"

"There is no understudy, Monsieur!" Reyer interrupted, clearly upset about the loss of his lead. "The production is new!"

"Christine Daaé could sing it, Sir!" a voice piped and we turned to see Meg Giry beaming at us hopefully.

"A ballet girl?" I asked.

"She's been taking lessons from a great teacher!"

"From whom?" Monsieur Andre inquired

"I don't know, Sir," Christine Daaé answered uneasily as she took a hesitant step forwards. She was rather pretty, I thought, but clearly shy. Far from what the role of Elissa would need. And who really knew if the girl could sing?

"Oh, not you as well!" Firmin exclaimed. "Can you believe it? A full house and we have to cancel!"

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur," Madame Giry suggested. "She has been well taught."

They sighed, but nodded after a dreadful pause.

"From the beginning of the aria, then!" Reyer ordered, hurrying to the piano.

Christine gave a very uncertain look to Madame Giry as the first notes played.

"_Think of me,  
__Think of me fondly,  
__When we've said goodbye."__  
_

Her voice broke and she looked as though she might run off, but a bang of Madame Giry's cane chained her to her spot.

"_Remember me,  
__Once in a while,  
__Please promise me you'll try!"__  
_

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves."

"Don't fret, Firmin."

In fact, as her song continued, it seemed that Christine gained confidence and I straightened up as I listened. Well taught, indeed. Her voice was very good now that she finally sung.

Obviously, Andre and Firmin had figured the same thing and soon they congratulated Miss Daaé on the role she had acquired for tonight. I watched her closely as she glowed with pride. A mysterious teacher that brought a shy chorus girl to shining excellence. I didn't believe in chance and especially at the Opéra Populaire, there was no such thing as chance. There only was the Phantom.

"Will you attend the performance?"

I looked up to see Madame Giry eyeing me sceptically. It was a fortune, I thought, that Madame Giry was the ballet mistress here – the dancers would be trained well enough to dance nearly everything I would think up.

"I thought about it, yes. See where there is potential, what we'll be able to do..."

"Pray tell, what made you return to the Opéra Populaire?"

"It's not a what," I admitted softly. "It's a who. Erik asked me to come."

I handed her the note that I had received and watched as she read.

"It seems he was certain you'd say yes."

"Why, who could say no to the Phantom of the Opera?"

She raised a disapproving eyebrow at me. "Have you spoken to him yet?"

"In fact, I haven't," I said, frowning in my own disapproval. It was the least he could do, I thought, to greet me now that I had returned, solely for him.

"Well then, I'm sure he'll contact you once he sees fit."

"I might just take matters into my own hands."

Madame Giry's eyes grew instantly wide in fear. "Please, Amélie – don't seek him out! He doesn't like people coming down-"

"I don't intend to go down," I said calmly. "I intend to visit him in Box Five – tonight, during the performance that he shall certainly attend."

"Amélie, please, he has killed for less!"

"Madame," I said, trying to console her. "He wants me here – why would he kill me, then?"

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	2. Think of Me

**I'd like to thank everyone who read chapter one and of course Anonymus, who reviewed. Greetings to you :)**

* * *

In fact, that night, just before the third act started, I crept from my place off stage to move up the stairs that would lead me to Box Five. Considering Miss Daaé's considerable talent as well as the rather strange fact that she couldn't even name her teacher, I was certain that Erik would be there, watching.

I pushed the curtain aside and slipped in just as Christine's voice started to be heard from the stage. I took a few steps inside, cautiously, looking out for him. He wouldn't be pleased with me arriving here, so much was clear.

Strong, long fingers wrapped around my throat and I was rather roughly pressed against the wall. Another hand pressed on my mouth to prevent me from making any sound. My hand shot up automatically to pull on the arm cutting off my breath as I stared at my attacker with wide eyes.

Erik looked the same he always had; the white mask standing in prominent contrast to the darkness surrounding us.

He glared at me out of dark, angry eyes, but I could practically see that realization dawned on him. He let go off me, taking a step back. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"_Did you think of me?  
Think of me fondly,  
__When you sat up here alone?  
__Remembered me?  
__Every so often,  
__When the dancers seemed like clowns?"__  
_

"_Remembered you?  
Yes, I remembered you  
with equal parts of hate and glee...  
__Amélie, what are you doing,  
__now and here with me?"__  
_

"Why, I had counted on you to bid me welcome, but you never did."

He huffed and turned his back on me to observe the scene again. I followed him to see Miss Daaé's performance. She was rather talented, though not yet a star – she had yet to be formed. Very little sense of stage, I would have to plan next to every step for her. Then again, the effort would be worth it. Her voice certainly was something.

"My, Erik," I said as she bowed and retreated, while his eyes remained fixed on her. "You seem rather enchanted by Miss Daaé."

"I'm watching an opera," he growled.

"And I am watching you," I retorted. "You admire her. Oh, for God's sake, Erik, she's off stage and you've seen this opera a thousand times! Please focus!"

He turned and glared at me again, but I was unfazed.

"You don't scare me away with that," I told him. "I want you to tell me about your relations with Miss Daaé."

"There are no relations."

"You want to know what I think?" I asked, coaxing. "She has a mysterious teacher – my guess is that I'm talking to this teacher right now."

"There's no point in guessing, Mademoiselle."

"I shall go right to knowing, then."

He sighed heavily. "She's got the most angelic voice," he informed me. "It's as if she was made for my music..."

"People aren't made for music, Erik, music is made for people."

"What would you know, foolish girl?" he snapped, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Forgive me," I said slowly. "How could I ever assume to know better than you?"

He huffed, clearly annoyed and turned to the stage again.

"Erik, I had hoped we could talk."

"We are talking."

"I'm serious. We can't talk while the opera is-"

"Listen," he said, turning to me once more. "I don't want to talk. I want you to do your work and do it good. That is all. I don't need you bugging me."

"Bugging you?" I repeated. "Are you that rude to everyone who tries to be friendly?"

"You've met me."

"Bugger this."

He whirled around, glaring again, but I had pushed the curtain to Box Five aside already and stepped outside. Fine. If he didn't want my friendship, I wouldn't run after him.

I returned to the stage and found Madame Giry standing at the door, waiting for me. She sighed in relief as I showed, but soon scowled at me disapprovingly.

"I had asked you not to."

"And I had told you I'm not afraid, Madame. I won't let him intimidate me – there's no point."

"What has he said?"

"Not much," I answered, stepping past her. "He seems rather fond of Miss Daaé. I'm sure you keep an eye out for her."

She opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the earth-shattering applause that echoed through the opera house.

"My," I muttered. "What a success."

As the auditorium emptied, every corner backstage seemed to fill. The ballet girls had gathered around Christine who glowed with pride. I tried to watch her, just in case anything funny happened, but was hauled off far too soon by Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, may we introduce you to our new choreographer, Mademoiselle Bonnet – the Vicomte de Chagny, our patron."

"Pleasure, I'm sure," I said, curtsying quickly.

"The pleasure's all mine, Mademoiselle. I understand you worked for this opera house before?"

"As a dancer, Monsieur, a few years ago. I'm very happy to be back."

"And we are glad to have you!" Monsieur Firmin said.

Over his shoulder, I saw Madame Giry ushering her dancers away, probably to train. The dancing had, in fact, been rather disappointing.

"I should join them," I said. "You'll excuse me, Messieurs?"

I didn't wait for the muttered response of, "Of course", but hurried off to follow the dancers. I froze as I passed one of the dressing rooms.

"_Who is this Angel, this-"  
_

"_Angel of Music,  
__Hide no longer!  
__Secret and strange  
__Angel..."__  
_

"_He's with me now!"_

"_Your hands are cold..."  
_

"_It frightens me..."_

"_Don't be frightened..."_

I entered to find Meg Giry standing with Christine, both clearly too absorbed to notice me.

"Meg Giry," I said and she whirled around, eyes widening. "Are you a dancer?"

She nodded fearfully and I added, "Then go and practice!"

Meg cast one last look at Christine, who seemed just as shocked to see me, and then rushed off past me.

"I have to congratulate you," I said, "For this splendid rendition."

"Thank you... Mademoiselle."

"Amélie, please. I remember you. When I left, you were still a young girl. Now you're a woman. I have to admit, I was rather astonished by your development. And by your voice, of course. A great teacher, indeed."

"Yes," she whispered, casting a quick look around.

"I shall give you a word of advice," I said. "Angels very rarely teach. In fact, most angels turn out to be disappointingly human."

She opened her mouth but closed it again without a single tone uttered.

"We'll see each other tomorrow at rehearsals, I assume. I wish you a goodnight."

She smiled lightly and swiftly turned to her mirror again. I opened the door to leave and collided suddenly with the Vicomte, who seemed rather flustered to find me.

"I thought you were at rehearsals-"

"I got held up," I answered. Patron or not – where I went was none of this man's business. "Good night, Monsieur."

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	3. Prima Donna

**I am sorry for the delay, but I moved (starting university) this weekend, so everything was quite chaotic. Anyway, I'm updating now. **

**Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and especially to Phan3145 for reviewing :) **

* * *

"What do you mean, she's gone?" I said, staring at Meg, completely stunned.

"She's gone. She wasn't in her room when I came to wake her this morning – in fact, her nightgown is gone, too. It's like she disappeared before she even went to bed."

"So she might be gone for the whole night," I summed up. How much time would I let him have before I went to check on the girl? A day? I felt sure that he wouldn't murder her. The adoration in his eyes had told me so much last night.

"Yes! My God, where is Maman? We have to... we have to find her! What if... what if..."

I frowned at Meg, wondering how much she knew exactly. It was clear that she didn't believe the phantom to be a mere myth. But did she realize that he was just a man? That her mother knew him quite personally? I decided not to find out by asking, afraid of what I might ruin.

"Yes, we should find your mother."

"Meg – Meg?"

Madame Giry entered, looking around; her face falling the very moment she saw her daughter. Meg was almost hysterical as she hauled herself into her mother's arms. "She's gone, Maman, she's gone..."

"What-?"

"Christine Daaé," I informed her. "It appears she's gone since last night."

"Do you think-?"

"Undoubtedly," I answered. "Which also means that we shouldn't call the search party just yet."

"What?" Meg exclaimed. "We have to find her, we-"

"She'll return to us by tonight or I will go out myself and find her," I promised.

I met Madame Giry's eyes, who seemed even more worried now.

"Are you sure that you would offer yourself for that?"

"Who else would go, Madame?"

"I..."

"I think we'll stick to the first option then," I said gently.  
Madame Giry frightened the living daylights of the dancers at this opera house, but when it came down to it, she would be much too intimidated by Erik. Too intimidated to talk some sense into him if it were necessary.

The door opened and Meg uttered a scream of relief. "Christine!"

She rushed forward and threw her arms around the pale girl. Christine Daaé's eyes wandered to Madame Giry and then to me, confusion and fright mirrored in them.

"Are you all right, girl?"

"Yes..."

"Has your escort brought you to the door?"

"Yes," she whispered again.

"He can't be far, then. You'll excuse me."

Madame Giry caught my arm before I reached the door. "Are you sure-?"

"Of course I am. Madame Giry."

I freed myself carefully from her grasp and opened the door to step outside. He was nowhere in sight, but I hadn't thought that he would be. Fortunately for me, my friendship with Eric had taught me the way around the opera house pretty well. I looked around before shifting a hanging to the side and stepped inside. My breath caught as my heart stopped for a split second. Even in the dark, it was easy to make out the light edges of his mask, the only part of him visible in the passageway.

"My God, Erik!" I whispered, my hand coming to rest over my heart as I tried to calm myself.

A lamp flickered on and I could now make him out, smirking at me.

"My apologies."

"They're hollow. Why couldn't you just have turned on the light before?"

"I wasn't sure you were going to come. Didn't want to waste a perfectly good lamp."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my head around his undeniable creepiness. "How long were you going to wait?"

"Half an hour, maybe."

"Half an hour of just standing in the dark, in the hope of frightening little ol' me?"

He frowned at me disapprovingly, but finally seemed to decide it didn't matter. "I figured you might have to say a few things..."

"Yes, yes, I have. We were worried – you can't just kidnap people!"

"I didn't kidnap anyone!" he yelled, a little too loud for my taste and I quickly casted a look over my shoulder to make sure the hanging was properly closed. He must have gotten the idea, because he lowered his voice again. "She came quite willingly."

"Because you convinced her that you are her Angel of Music!" I hissed.

"A little white lie-"

"No," I interrupted him. "No, it's more of big black lie, Erik.

_Angel of Music,  
__Friend and father,  
__That's what she thinks  
__you are.__  
_

_Angel of Darkness,  
a man, no mystery,  
__You've stretched the truth  
__too far."__  
_

"You don't have any idea what is between me and Christine..."

"Erik," I pleaded. "Open your eyes. I just saw her, she seemed terrified."

"Well," he bit back angrily. "You're wrong!"

He turned forcefully, striding off into the darkness, and my calling after him didn't make him react. I reached out to take the lamp he had left behind and froze as I saw a small parchment lying on the ground. I bend down, picking it up. _Messieurs Andre et Firmin_. Well then, I thought.

I arrived at the managers' office to the sound of raised voices.

"_No, Monsieur, she will see no one!"_

"_Will she sing, will she sing?"_

I entered, not bothering to knock. "I have a note."

"Let me see it!" various people exclaimed and I took a step back as Carlotta rushed towards me.

"Please!" I said, furrowing my eyebrows. "My God..." I unfolded the latter with a nod to Monsieur Firmin and began to read. "Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theatre is to be run. I shall give you one last chance...

_Christine Daaé has returned to you  
and I am anxious her career should progress.  
In the new production of "Il Muto",  
__You will therefore cast Carlotta as the pageboy  
__and put Miss Daaé in the role of Countess.__  
_

_The role which Miss Daaé plays  
calls for charm and appeal.  
The role of the Pageboy is silent –  
which makes my casting, in a word,  
ideal."_

I tried hard to hide the smile playing on my lips at his comment.

"I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant. O.G."

I gulped, looking up to meet Monsieur Firmin's confused eyes.

"Christine," Meg muttered. "Christine..."

"_Christine!"_

"Whatever next?"

"_It's all a ploy to help  
__Christine!  
__I know who sent this:  
__The Vicomte, her lover!"__  
_

"_Indeed, can you believe it?"_

"_Signora, you are our star!"  
_

"_And always will be, Signora!"_

"_The man is mad!"_

"_We don't take orders!"_

"Miss Daaé will be playing the Pageboy," Monsieur Firmin announced, "The silent role..."

"_Carlotta will be playing the lead!"_

Carlotta seemed to consider and then took a huge melodramatic breath.

"_It's useless trying to appease me!  
__You're only saying this to please me!  
__Signori, e vero?  
__Non, non, non voglio udire,  
__Lasciatemi morire!  
__Oh, padre mio!__  
_

_You have reviled me!  
__You have rebuked me!"__  
_

"_Signora, pardon us!"_

"_You have replaced me!"  
_

"_Please, Signora we beseech you!"_

"_Abbondata! Desiderata!  
__Oh, sventurata!"__  
_

"_Signora, sing for us!  
__Don't be a martyr, our star…"__  
_

"_Your public needs you!"  
_

"_We need you, too!"  
_

"_Would you not rather have your precious little  
ingénue?"_

"_Signora, no!  
__The world wants you...__  
_

_Prima Donna  
the world is at your feet,  
__A nation waits and how it hates  
__to be cheated!"__  
_

"_Light up the stage with that age old rapport!  
Sing, prima donna, once more!"_

"Do you really think that is wise?"

Monsieur Andre walked up to me, snatching the note from my hands. "This phantom is not real. Someone thinks they can play with us, but they can't."

"Please, Monsieur," I begged. "He has killed for less!"

"So!"

I flinched violently at the threatening voice filling the room. It was impossible to say where exactly it came from, as it seemed to echo from every corner at once.

"It is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!"

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**I'd be so happy about reviews.**


	4. Stranger Than I Dreamt It

**And now I'm officially back on schedule. Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and to Phan3145 for reviewing again. Maybe we could possibly get the count up to two reviews per chapter? That would be so awesome...**

* * *

I opened the door to my room and stopped in the doorway, startled.  
Christine Daaé jumped up from the chair she had waited in and made the bare hint of a curtsy. "Mademoiselle, please pardon my behaviour, I..."

"Call me Amélie, please," I said, stepping inside for good and closing the door behind me. "I must say, though, that I'm disappointed you didn't show at rehearsals if you are up."

"I... I don't feel so well, Made- Amélie."

I nodded, walking past her to drop my scarf down on the dressing table. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"I had hoped we could..." She took a deep breath before whispering, "He mentioned you."

I whirled around, raising both eyebrows at the girl. "He what?"

"He said... he said I mustn't listen to what you had to say, because... because you were just as much his enemy as you are his friend."

"Did he, now?" I muttered. What made him say these things to her? When had I ever proven myself to be his enemy? Or was anyone an enemy to him who didn't bend to his every will?

"Well, if the phantom says so, he must be right."

"I... I have seen... his face."

My eyes widened at her confession as everything snapped in place; the fright in her eyes and the hurt look in his when I told him that Christine had seemed terrified.

"My God," I whispered.

"_Stranger than I dreamt it,  
__I can't even dare to think...  
__The look I stole on his face,  
__This monstrosity-"__  
_

"Silent!" I snapped. "He's not a monster."

I had to go and see him, I figured. Apologize for my carelessly uttered words.

"I apologize, I just... what happened to him?"

"Nothing happened," I said. "He was born that way."

I watched as her eyes watered. "Poor creature..."

I huffed, definitely annoyed with the girl by now. "You should-"

"How do you know him?" she asked.

I sighed. "I was in the rails above the stage and slipped. I would have fallen hadn't he caught me."

"He saved you?" Her voice dripped of astonishment and curiosity. "Why?"

"I don't think even he knows," I answered shortly.  
Of course, I had left out the part where I had followed him, down to his home, if you wanted to call it that; down to where he hid away in loneliness and all his pent-up anger. I left out the part where I had almost drowned in his damned lake and he had had to save me once again. I left out the part where we formed something very similar to a friendship over the sheer brilliance of his music.

"You should go... and I should get down there to see him."

"Why would you do that?" she asked, fear clearly sparkling in her eyes again.

Maybe she was a sweet girl after all, being worried about me and all. Not that she needed to be. And obviously, Christine felt pity for Erik, even though she clearly was frightened of him.

"I said something... something rather mean to him this morning," I explained softly. "I should go and offer my apologies."

"Aren't you afraid that he'll...?"

"No, not really," I answered quite honestly. Naturally, there was always doubt when it came to Erik – which was rather sad, looking at it this way – but I didn't really believe that he would hurt me.

"In this case... I wish you good luck."

Minutes later, I was in one of the dark passageways leading to the catacombs underneath the Opera. In the darkness, my candle being the only dim source of light, every sound seemed to haunt me. Even my own steps and the swishing of my skirts seemed ghostly.  
He wouldn't be happy to see me, so much was clear. Then again, he never was happy to see me, or always said so, and in the end, we got along just fine.  
There was no other option, anyways, I had to-

A scream was torn from my mouth as the ground gave in beneath me and I dropped. It was a wonder, really, that my hands gripped the edge of the abyss that had just opened and that I didn't fall – a damn luck, too. My candle had fallen from my hands; seconds after I had dropped, I heard it clattering onto the ground. I gulped hard, looking down and saw the last, hopeless flickering so many feet beneath me before it expired, surrounding me in darkness.

Frantically, I tried to secure my hold, but it was no use. I was left there, my feet dangling over the abyss, my nimble fingers being the only hold. I did the only reasonable thing.

"ERIK! ERIK! HELP ME! PLEASE!"

No sound could be heard and I felt tears of panic rising in my eyes. Soon, my hands wouldn't be able to hold me up and I would fall... crash onto the ground next to an equally lifeless candle...

"ERIK!" I called again, almost weeping. "PLEASE, HELP ME!"

A few silent moments passed and I couldn't say if it were seconds, minutes or hours – and then, hurried footsteps echoed through the darkness. I almost sobbed in relief as the passageway lightened. Erik appeared above me and now I cried for good.

"Please," I whispered.

He bent down, one gloved hand wrapping around one of mine and the other gripping my forearm. He pulled me up over the edge and I practically fell into his arms, sobbing.

"Oh God, Erik..."

His voice seemed almost uncertain as he muttered, "'s all right... I've got you..."

"Oh God," I muttered again, very carefully pulling back and attempting to dry my tears. "I thought I was going to die."

"Well," Erik said, suddenly very stern. "You're lucky the 'Angel of Darkness' is always coming to your rescue."

"Erik, about that-"

He huffed and turned away, gesturing for me to follow him. I practically rushed after him, grabbing his arm. "Please, don't leave me standing there..."

"Afraid?"

"Terrified," I admitted. "I don't trust myself down here."

"And you trust me?" he scoffed.

"With my life."

He glared at me, even though he made no attempt to free his arm as we kept walking. "Obviously..."

"Listen, Erik, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said these things this morning..."

"No, you shouldn't have."

The tone of his voice quieted me immediately and for the rest of our journey down to the lake, I didn't dare to speak up again. As we reached the boat, he offered me a hand.

"Erik, I really am sorry... I didn't know."

"There was nothing to know," he answered, raising his eyebrows at me.

I sighed and took his hand, allowing him to help me into the boat.

"You know," I said a little while later, looking at the new sheets full of scribbled notes. "Sometimes I wonder why you have about 20 sheets of the same piece lying around..."

"What do you want, Amélie?"

I looked up at him. "I came here – or, I tried – wanting to apologize, but you won't let me."

"You did apologize."

"But you don't try and understand!" I exclaimed, walking towards him. "See, when we talked this morning, I didn't know she had seen your face. I shouldn't have said that she was terrified, or that you're an Angel of Darkness. I know I hurt you and I know it must have stung even more after she..."

"Perhaps she wasn't that scared after all."

"Erik," I said softly, my hand reaching out to grace his cheek, but he shrank back and my hand dropped again. "Look, she pities you, all right, but... that doesn't mean she genuinely likes you. I'm not saying that to hurt you, I just want to protect you from yourself. I know you – you get obsessed about things and when they don't go the way you want to-"

"Then what?" he growled.

"Then you stage a disaster beyond imagination, and quite frankly, I don't want that."

"'S not in your hands," he answered. Dark eyes met mine and he sighed heavily. "I'm not angry at you."

I smiled brightly at him at this news.

"_I am glad –  
__I felt so bad for what I said.__  
_

Thank you, Erik."

"_Not to worry..."_

The smallest smile played around his lips and I grinned back at him.

"_No more talk of darkness –  
__Let's move to brighter things!  
__Like you – you and your music,  
__Tell me why you wrote this!"__  
_

I held up one of the sheets I had found earlier and he rolled his eyes.

"I wanted to write a Sonata. By the time I had 20 different versions, I remembered that I hate Sonatas."

I chuckled and brushed through the different versions. "Can I have one of those?"

"What for?"

"To play it, stupid," I teased.

"Wait, I'll get you the best one..."

"The last?"

"No, the first."

I chuckled again as he rummaged through the different versions until he found what he was looking for.

"There you go. I should get you back up; you shall be back for the performance tonight."

I nodded, my fingers wrapping around the sheet he had handed me. "You'll be there, too?"

"Will Box Five be empty?"

I pulled a face. "Actually, I think every seat is sold, except Box Five, so... the managers and our patron..."

"Ah, Monsieur le Vicomte..."

"I don't think Box Five will be empty," I finished my original thought.

He hummed lightly, the calmness in him making me instantly suspicious.

"What are you planning, Erik?"

"If I would tell you," he said. "It wouldn't be a surprise."


	5. Il Muto

**So, I got favourited, thank you for that. Also a special thanks to xTheDarkShadowsx for reviewing. I still think there are enough of you to make it two reviews this chapter. Pretty please?**

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"Miss Bonnet, we have searched for you-"

"Really?" I asked lightly, focused on the fixing of my hair rather than Monsieur André.

"Yes, the dancers have asked for advice on a certain figure..."

"I know which one they mean," I said, turning my head from one side to the other in the mirror. "We can fix that in a matter of minutes."

"Oh. Good."

I finally turned to face him. "Carlotta's still playing the lead?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes," he repeated. "We won't be intimidated by that... man."

I frowned. "I don't think that's wise."

"Dear Miss Bonnet – you shouldn't fret. Nothing will happen."

"From your lips to God's ears, Monsieur."

Monsieur André grimaced, but didn't answer me; instead he bowed before turning and striding out of my room. God's ears or not, of course, he would learn to be intimidated... if Erik promised disaster, he would surely live up to his words.

As I reached the back stage, the usual pre-performance chaos already reigned. Monsieur Reyer was assisting Carlotta as she warmed up her vocal chords, while the make-up artist put the finishing touches on Piangi's make-up.

As soon as I had entered, the entirety of the ballet girls had gathered around me.

"Why would be change it now?"

"What if we forget?"

"What if it doesn't work?"

"What if-"

"Stop!" I held up my hand to gain silence. "Thank you. We simplified the steps on one instance only. I have complete faith in you that you'll remember. It will work better than what you did before, with all due respect to Madame Giry..."

"Can we please-"

"Try again? Once more before-?"

I nodded and followed the horde as they hurried to the next empty space to rehearse the steps once again.

Meg joined me, smiling brightly. "A full house! This is guaranteed to be a success."

"Uh-huh," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the leading ballerina's pirouettes.

"Don't you think? Everyone wants to see Il Muto! There's nothing better than a classic opera."

"Sure," I said before calling out, "And don't forget to smile! Always smile!"

"I'm really excited. The managers are sure nothing out of the ordinary will-"

"Meg!" I interrupted her. "We'll see how tonight turns out, now please. We are practising."

She dropped her eyes, blushing in embarrassment. "Of course. My apologies."

I sighed as she strolled off. Maybe I was too harsh.  
"That was good," I announced. "You'll be doing just fine on stage."

"Mademoiselle Bonnet!"

I looked around and smiled politely as the Vicomte walked up to me. "Are your dancers ready?"

"Of course. Though most of this is Madame Giry's work, really. I only did a bit of adjusting. I think we'll do just fine in the future."

"That's good to hear. Ah, here come our managers – gentlemen, shall we take our seats? We shall be sitting in Box Five."

"Do you really think that's wise?" Monsieur Firmin asked.

"There would appear to be no seats available other than Box Five," the Vicomte answered, nodding to me. "Good luck for tonight."

"I wish you the very same."

He frowned at me, but the men took off without another word for me and I went to find my place behind the stage.

"_They say that this youth  
__Has set my Lady's heart a flame!"__  
_

"_His Lordship sure would die of shock!"_

"_His Lordship is a laughing stock!"_

"_Should he suspect her,  
__God protect her,"__  
_

"_Shame, shame, shame!  
__This faithless Lady's  
__Bound for Hades,  
__Shame, shame, shame!"__  
_

On stage, Carlotta and Christine were revealed and my gaze instantly searched the rails above us for any sign of Erik. His instructions ignored, his box occupied – he would be far from happy.

"_I suspect my young bride is untrue to me!  
I shall not leave, but shall hide over there,  
__To observe her!  
__Addio__!"__  
_

With contentment, I registered that Piangi didn't stray one step from where I had told him to move. Carlotta, meanwhile, had already told me she could very well manage by herself. Well, I saw how well she managed. She was a good singer, but she was a terrible actress.

"_Poor fool, he makes me laugh,  
__Hahahaha!  
__Time I tried to get a better better half!"__  
_

"_Poor fool, he doesn't know!  
Hahahaha!  
__If he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go!"__  
_

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?"

I flinched violently at the voice echoing through the opera house, my eyes frantically searching for any sign of him but finding none.

"He's here!" I heard Meg's terrified exclamation. "_The Phantom of the Opera!"_

"It's him," Christine said; she, too, searching for his silhouette. "I know it, it's him."

"Your part is silent, little toad!" Carlotta hissed.

"A TOAD, MADAME? PERHAPS IT IS YOU WHO ARE THE TOAD..."

She looked slightly stunned, but then plastered a smile on her face again.

"Maestro, please..."

The music set in again and Carlotta turned to Christine again.

"_Serafimo, away with this pretence!  
__You cannot speak, but kiss me in my – GRUAGH!"__  
_

I stared, open-mouthed at Carlotta, who herself didn't seem to believe what had just left her mouth.

"_Poor fool, he makes me laugh-  
__Hahahaha!  
__Ha- GRUAGH!  
__Ha- GRUAGH!"__  
_

She broke down, sobbing and Piangi rushed onto the stage to comfort her. "BEHOLD!" Erik's voice announced. "SHE'S SINGING TO BREAK DOWN THE CHANDELIER!"

My eyes instantly flew to the chandelier, whose candles were already flickering wildly. "Erik, no," I whispered.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Monsieur Firmin announced from the Box, "The performance will continue in ten minutes time. The role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Christine Daaé..."

The actors rushed off stage, and Christine darted past me and nearly bumped into Monsieur André, who hurried onto the stage.

"In the meantime," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from... Act Three! Of tonight's opera."

Several of the ballet girls squeaked, hurrying around backstage to find their requisites. I whirled around, counting to see if everyone was present.

"Maestro, the ballet... now!"

"Out! Out there, now! Hurry, hurry!" I urged and one after the other, the dancers hurried onto the stage.

Monsieur André practically stumbled off stage as the dance began and I pushed him aside to see how they were doing. They were good, even with the hastiness that had just occurred, every step was in place.

But I was still worried. Making Carlotta croak sure wouldn't be what Erik called a disaster beyond imagination. Not him. Not theatrical, pompous Erik...

They were halfway through the dance routine by now and had passed my corrections without fault. They were really good tonight.  
There was a loud crack followed by the screaming of the ballet girls. I looked up and screamed as well. Joseph Buquet's lifeless body hung from the rails above, dangling obscenely over the stage.


	6. Why Have You Killed That Man

**Thanks to everyone who favourited, alerted and especially to the three awesome people who reviewed! It's greatly appreciated and I hope you keep it up :)**

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"It was an accident, simply an accident-"

I saw Christine and the Vicomte hurrying up the stairs and followed; there was no way to say what Erik would do next. At least the Vicomte was likely to fall victim to his wrath. I reached upstage level when a swishing sound stopped me. It sounded like the fast movement of a mantle on the floor.

"Erik!" I hissed, moving in the direction of that noise.

I was sharply pulled backwards, a hand clamping over my mouth to muffle my scream of surprise.

"Relax," he muttered. "It's me."

A soon as I relaxed into his hold, he let go of me, turning me around. "What are you doing up here?"

"You have to ask – you just killed Buquet!"

He huffed and turned, heading up the next stairs, towards the roof.

"Erik!" I repeated, hurrying after him.

"_Why have you killed that man?  
__What has he done?"__  
_

"Go away, Amélie!"

"_Has he just known too much?  
__What was his wrong?"__  
_

"I had to let them feel the consequences!"

"_And if you had to kill  
a thousand men?"_

"_The phantom of the opera would kill  
__And kill again!"__  
_

"_There is no phantom of the opera!"_

He stopped and glared at me, anger radiating from him. "Are you dumb?"

"No, anything but," I told him.

"_Erik, I know you –  
__I have followed you through the night,  
__to your world where the daylight  
__Dissolves into darkness,  
__darkness...__  
_

_I have seen you,  
all the fear and the hope inside!  
__I had hoped I could pull you  
__out of your darkness,  
__darkness...__  
_

'_Cause your voice filled my spirit  
__With a strange, sweet sound,  
__And it reached every corner  
__of my mind...__  
_

_I know, through music  
your soul begins to  
soar!_

Thanks to you_,_

_I heard  
__as I'd never heard  
__before...__  
_

_Yet in your eyes,  
all the sadness of the world –  
those pleading eyes,  
that both threaten and adore."_

"I told you to leave me," he said, his voice colder than I had ever heard it.

"Why her?" I called after him and he froze a few steps up. "She doesn't love you – why trying to force it if you could just-"

"I could just what?"

"Could just find someone more willing."

"There is no one willing, Amélie. Are you blind? Who would want to be with a monster like me?"

"I think, Erik," I said slowly. "That it is you who are blind."

He disappeared up the stairs with a swirl of his cloak and left me standing in the darkness. I took a deep breath to pull myself together as the sound of his steps dissolved. My eyes watered at the sense of helplessness washing over me. No amount of pleading or coaxing would ever change his decisions. No amount of begging, or screaming, or crying would ever keep him from murdering. For murder, he had. A man wasn't breathing anymore, because of Erik. Erik and his injured pride.

My feet carried me down the stairs somehow and guided me backstage, where I collided painfully with Madame Giry. My eyes widened and I quickly apologized.

"No need," she muttered. "We are all... shaken."

"Yes," I admitted. "Will... will we go on?"

"If we find Christine," Madame Giry answered. She hesitated briefly before adding, "Have you spoken to him yet? He won't go after her, will he?"

"And if he were to do that," I answered quietly, "What would we do?"

I watched as the wrinkles on her forehead intensified, but she didn't say anything.

"Forgive me," I said. "Times like these, I find it hard to believe in him."

"I have never believed in him," she retorted. "I still know that it is necessary we get him to stop."

"We can't make him stop, Antoinette!" I exclaimed as she frowned at me at the use of her given name. "He won't listen. He'll do whatever he wishes to do and we can only watch. It's always been that way and it will never change. He will never change."

Madame Giry was set to answer, yet she got interrupted by Monsieur Firmin. "Miss Bonnet! Have you seen Miss Daaé – we are afraid she is missing again."

"I saw her go up to the roof with the Vicomte, Monsieur."

"Oh," he uttered, clearly overstrained with the whole situation. "Well, then..."

"They should be back soon," Madame Giry said calmly.

"Yes, yes, surely," Monsieur Firmin muttered.

"You might want to stay away from Box Five when we start again," I advised. "We've had enough for one night."

"It was an accident," the just arriving Monsieur André announced. "There's no proof Monsieur Buquet was actually murdered."

I stared at his determined expression, trying to make any sense of this. Did he not understand or did he just choose not to?

Christine and the Vicomte returned about 10 minutes later and both seemed unfazed by the events of the night. In fact, the brilliant smile Christine bestowed onto our patron did not seem to fit the girl I had seen earlier tonight.

The Vicomte smiled back just as brightly before heading off with the managers in order to take his seat.

"Are you all right?" I said, turning to the girl.

"Splendid," she answered.

"Then you're lucky," I said piercingly. "Some of us are shaken by the murder that occurred on our stage tonight."

Her eyes widened slightly before her gaze dropped. "Why did he... do you think... because of me?"

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Did you give him any reason to?"

"No! I mean... maybe? I don't know," she admitted.

"Christine!"

Meg Giry appeared, still pale with the shock, but she seemed to have recovered slightly. "Are you ready?"

Christine met my eyes before smiling at her friend. "Of course. Let's go, Meg."

The two of them hurried off and I followed them slowly, the déjà-vu almost unbearable as I took the place I had also taken earlier that night to watch the performance.

Christine was good. Very good, even. Her voice was fantastic tonight and her smile brighter than ever as she acted. Still, I had the impression that she was rather frozen on stage. She was lacking _presence_. She was very young, I thought, and shy. She was still going to improve, she had the potential to... I saw it, and I knew that Erik had seen it, too.

Christine received a fine amount of applause as she entered the stage to bow for the audience. She smiled brightly, her face turning to Box Five in the process.

The applause was suddenly interrupted by a clattering sound echoing through the opera house. I froze on the spot as the actors' faces all turned up to the ceiling.

_She's singing to break down the chandelier_.

I gasped and my eyes darted upwards to find the chandelier swinging dangerously back and forth. The actors backed off apart from Christine, who stood frozen in the middle of the stage, staring up at the lustre. I rushed on stage just as a horrifying scream filled the opera.

"GO!"

I pulled Christine with me as the chandelier lost its hold and rushed downwards, screams filling my ears as we ran off stage. There was a loud clash, pieces of glass flying everywhere, the floor cracking at the impact as the chandelier crashed on the stage.


	7. How You've Betrayed Me

**Four reviews! You're getting better and better, guys, thanks so much.**

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I stumbled as I descended the stairs, grateful that I had at least grabbed a lamp in my haste, as it would only get darker and darker. I had used this passage only once – it lead directly to his home and I wouldn't need to cross the lake. It was for that reason that I had never dared to use it on my own. Erik would not appreciate anyone barging in. This time, though, I had to. He was angry beyond measure and wouldn't come to get me with the boat. I shivered thinking of his wrath and wondered if it was a good idea to go and visit him.

I squared my shoulders and nodded to myself. Someone had to make sure he didn't cause any more catastrophes. I could deal with his anger, I told myself. It couldn't be far anymore...

I stopped dead in my tracks at the voice that sounded from further down.

"_How you've repaid me...  
__Denied me and betrayed me...  
__You were meant to love me,  
__as you were meant to sing..."_

While he sung, I had carefully took the final steps down and now saw him, sunken on the ground, eyes fixed on the music box before him.

"Christine," he whispered, "Christine..."

I sat down next to him, carefully reaching out to touch him. Erik flinched violently, his head snapping around to look at me. I met his eyes and saw the tears shimmering in them.

"Erik," I said quietly, the hand that had snapped back at his flinching reaching out again to carefully stroke his arm.

He exhaled a shuddering breath and turned back to the music box.

"_Christine, how you've betrayed me..."_

"Shh," I muttered, reaching for him, pulling him closer. He slumped into me, crying softly. I cradled his head in my lap, fingers gently stroking through his hair.

"Shh," I whispered again. "You're going to be all right... it's going to be all right..."

After a long while, he had finally fallen asleep. I replaced myself with a surely more comfortable pillow and fetched him a blanket. He didn't awake but hours later when I had just decided to make tea to fight the cold. I heard the rustling of fabric and knew he was sitting up, but I wasn't willing to give up my tea just yet.

He appeared in the doorway, brows furrowed as he took me in. "What are you doing here?"

"Making tea," I answered calmly. "Do you want some? It would do you good."

"No," he growled. "What are you doing down here?"

"I was worried you'd drop more chandeliers," I said coldly. "Just want to make sure you don't kidnap or murder someone."

He huffed, annoyed. "'Course. Came here worried about others..."

"If I had said that I worried about your well-being, would you have believed it?"

"No."

"What's the point in saying it, then?" I asked.

He strolled out again and I sighed heavily. I hadn't come here worried about him; I had been too upset to properly worry about anything, really. But as I found him here, so... broken... nothing else had been more important, then. It was sad that he couldn't even see that someone cared.

"There you go," I said placing a mug in front of him.

His head snapped up, glaring at me. "What's that?"

"Tea," I reminded him, smiling slightly. "Drink up. You lay on the cold floor for too long, you need warmth."

"What I need," he said, still glaring. "Is to be alone."

"No," I declared. "I'm not going to leave you alone. Not like this."

Pale, long fingers tightened around the mug as he growled, "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not. Drink," I urged again. At the defiance in his eyes, I leant forward slightly. "Please, Erik. Don't make this harder than it has to be. Let me care for you, just this once."

Slowly, he raised the mug to his lips, taking the tiniest of sips.

I nodded slightly at him and took a sip myself. The warm liquid washed down my throat and I sighed in contentment, rushing to take another gulp.

He frowned at me, the mug hovering awkwardly between the table and his mouth.

"What?" I said as I had swallowed. "Drink, Erik. Don't make me beg you for each sip."

"Would you? Beg me for each sip?"

"Yes," I said, smiling wryly at him. "Until I'd bug you so much that you would just gulp it down."

He smiled, too, though it was visibly forced. "I don't know why you bother."

"I'm a good soul."

He huffed, but raised the mug to his lips once again, in fact drinking it down. "There," he said as he had finished. "Happy?"

"For now," I said.

Erik got up and strolled towards the organ, rustling through the sheets of music that were piled there. I followed him to look over his shoulder.

"Don Juan Triumphant?" I asked.

"The end is almost done," he informed me. "It's the middle that is lacking..."

"You've been working on this for ages. I would have been surprised had you finished."

"I will finish," he said, determination filling his voice. "I will finish and they will perform it."

"Certainly," I said.

"Will you sing this for me?" he asked, though it was more of an order than a genuine question. With nimble fingers, he had fished out one particular sheet and handed it to me.

"You know I don't nearly have the voice to sing this."

"I just want an idea of what it sounds like."

"And idea of a voice," I scoffed. "That sounds about right."

"Oh, do stop fishing for compliments."

"I wouldn't have to fish, if you would just hand them out," I told him, smiling slightly.

A hint of a smile played around his lips and he gestured for me to sing. I sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be pleased, but couldn't deny him the favour, either.

"_Past the point of no return –  
__No going back now;  
__Our passion-play has now at last, begun...  
__Past all thought of right or wrong –  
__One final question:  
__How long should we two wait, before we're one...?"_

"Can we quickly...?" he darted up and pulled the sheet out of my hands, adjusting a few notes. "I didn't like that line, could you try again...?"

"Sure," I said, sighing lightly.

"From 'Past all thought', then..."

"_Past all thought of right or wrong –  
__One final question:  
__How long should we to wait before we're one...?"_

Hours later, we were now working on a ballet piece; Erik playing at the organ, now and then jumping back a few bars to adjust some notes and me, trying out this or that step.

"It's still difficult," I said slowly, indicating a pirouette. "But it's better."

"I want it perfect," he answered, reaching for his pen to scribble on the sheet.

"I know," I said. "Still, can we do that another time? I'm awfully tired... I need to get up there, so I can sleep before rehearsal this afternoon."

"Do you think they'll rehearse," he asked dryly, "With their stage covered in glass splinters?"

I froze and turned to glare at him. "You know what they say. Show must go on."

The two of us remained staring at each other, neither willing to give up. My anger at him had welled up again so suddenly that it had taken me off guard; and Erik, as it stood, was unstable at least. His eyes narrowed slightly at me, but this time, I wouldn't back down. Not when he was so obviously at fault. Not when he had dropped the chandelier, not when he had killed a man.  
It was Erik who relented.

"You could stay, of course," he offered, gaze returning to his instrument. "The bed is free."

"Thank you, but no. They'll miss me."

"And then what?" he taunted. "Antoinette will come looking for you? You're old ballet mistress... the only one who cares."

My tongue was faster than my brain as I retorted, "At least someone does."

I whirled around and took off before I would feel too compelled to apologize.


	8. Masquerade

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! My, you sure aren't easy on poor Erik. Everyone was all, "Ha! Take that!" and I just kept thinking that Amélie was rather harsh herself... Anyway, on with the next chapter.**

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"Amélie?"

Meg Giry had entered the rehearsal room. Though I hadn't heard her knocking, I was sure she had; I just had been too caught up in my playing.

"That's a beautiful piece," she offered. "I've never heard it before."

"So I'd imagine," I answered.

Her eyes widened. "You haven't – haven't written it yourself, have you?"

I laughed drily. "No, I haven't. The composer... the composer is an acquaintance of mine."

"It's lovely," Meg said, stepping closer to look at the sheets, probably to see if it was signed.

"He's a genius," I said quite honestly.

Meg smiled politely, evidently thinking my praise due to camaraderie.

There was nothing of the sort. Though I had resigned to playing Erik's sonata quite often during the past months, I could never bring myself to seek him out again. And Erik, being even more stubborn than I was, had never shown up, either.

"Actually," Meg spoke up again, "I have come to ask you about the New Year's festivities – see, some dancers wanted to perform at the masquerade..."

"Masquerade?" I repeated incredulously.

Nobody had heard from the phantom in the last six months; but still there was no reason to tempt the fates! Depending on his mood, Erik would either find this idea very funny or he would throw a fit. I was guessing it would be the latter.

"Why would you throw a masquerade?"

Meg's furrowing eyebrows didn't show any sign of understanding. "Why _wouldn't_ we throw a masquerade?"

Realization slowly dawned on me. Apart from a few exceptions – to my knowledge, Madame Giry, Christine and myself – no one had ever actually seen Erik. No one knew about his mask, or what lay beneath it. They didn't even realize their fault.

I sighed heavily, running a hand through my hair. "I... am just not fond of masquerades," I said lamely. "But, you were telling me about the dancers."

"Yes," Meg said, clearly confused. "They want to give a little performance and had hoped you would assist in the choreography."

"Of course," I agreed. "I will think up something suitable."

Even as the New Year arrived, I thought the idea of a masquerade to be outrageous. I saw it on the strained expression Madame Giry wore, as well, and in her refusal to wear a mask at all.

Our managers had both turned up as skeletons – as if throwing a masquerade at an opera reigned by a masked man wasn't morbid enough. I smiled politely as I joined them.

"_Dear André,  
__What a splendid party."_

"_The prologue for a bright new year!"_

Monsieur Firmin grinned broadly as he, too, accepted a glass.

"_Quite a night,  
__I'm impressed!"_

"_Well,  
__One does one's best!"_

"_Here's to us!"_

The three of us clinked our glasses, though I wished I hadn't when I heard Monsieur Firmin's next words.

"_A toast to all the city,  
__Such a pity,  
__That the phantom can't be here!"_

The both laughed obscenely. I bit my lip, forcing myself not to call them out on their idiocy.

_Masquerade!  
__Paper faces on parade...  
__Masquerade!  
__Hide your face so the world  
__Can never find you._

_Masquerade!  
__Every face a different shape...  
__Masquerade!  
__Look around there's another mask  
__Behind you._

"Madame Giry," I acknowledged, taking a swift sip from my glass as she copied my move.

"Amélie."

"Do you feel that dark sense of foreboding as well?"

"Because we're throwing a masquerade?" she guessed and I nodded while my eyes searched the crowd. People were amusing themselves, dancing, drinking, giggling to one another.

"It seems ludicrous," she admitted, "but no one has heard from him in the past six months..."

"You haven't, either?" I asked.

"I didn't dare visit him."

I frowned. So Erik had spent the past half year in complete isolation? How did he survive like that? Did he even live? My heart clenched at the thought that he might be long dead, lying alone, unfound and unmissed... While I was lost in these most hapless thoughts, Madame Giry and I suddenly found us in quite a crowd; our managers had wandered over to us and had probably dragged Carlotta and Piangi with them; Meg had joined us, too, presumably because Christine was off dancing with the Vicomte.

I couldn't quite bring myself to smile, but Madame Giry luckily was more adept.

"_What a night!"_

"_What a crowd!"_

"_Makes you glad!"_

"_Makes you proud!  
__All the crème de la crème-"_

"_Watching us watching them!  
__No more notes!"_

"_No more ghost!"_

"_Here's a health!"_

"_Here's a toast:  
__To a prosperous year!"_

"_To the new chandelier!"_

I smiled warily. The chandelier, indeed.

"_And may its splendour  
__Never fade..."_

"_Six months!"_

"_What a joy,  
__What a change!"_

"_What a blessed release!"_

"_And what a masquerade..."_

Again, glasses were clinked and our little party of seven dissolved as I hurried to join the few dancers who had put on a small performance. They had been more determined than I had ever seen them; maybe, because it was their own choice what they would get to perform or even because it was just a bit of fun. I had gladly accepted a few ideas on what to do and worked out the choreography with them; one girl, especially seemed to have quite the eye for these things.

They were great, even though I had to fight back the bad feeling again at the sight of Madeleine Roux, who wore a split-in-half costume half man, half woman... They don't know, I told myself again. They wouldn't do this if they did.

In the middle of everything, I caught sight of Christine, who seemed a little confused as she wandered through the crowd, turning from one side to the other, shrinking back here and there. Of course, she did know – and she would be afraid that he might hide beneath one of those masks.

_Masquerade!  
Burning glances, turning heads...  
__Masquerade!  
__Stop and stare at the sea of smiles  
__Around you!_

_Masquerade!  
Grinning yellows, spinning reds...  
__Masquerade!  
__Take your fill – let the spectacle astound you!_

The first shriek would have been missed on me, hadn't it been followed by a second, a third and countless others. I whirled around, searching for the source of the uproar. It could hardly be missed.

At the top of the staircase, towering above the crowd, stood a man; dressed in crimson, his face covered in a skull's mask – I had no doubt of the man's identity. Shivering, I noted his costume choice. The Red Death. Could he be any more morbid?

The screams had passed and instead the hall was filled with an eerie silence as the figure took a few steps down the stairs.

"_Why so silent, good Messieurs?"_

His head turned to the side, focusing on the managers. I shivered again at the sight. As if it really were a skull...

"_Did you think that  
I would leave you for good?_

_Why so silent, good Messieurs?  
I have written you an opera!_

_Here I bring the finished score –  
__Don Juan Triumphant!"_

He pulled the manuscript from beneath his mantle and before I knew it, it flew, landing in the arms of Monsieur André who emitted a strangled "Oomph!"

"_I advise you to comply,  
__My instructions should be clear.  
__Remember, there are worse things  
__Than a shattered chandelier!"_

Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmin both hurried off, pushing through the crowd, which only very hesitatingly parted for them. Meanwhile, Erik had turned his skeleton's head to another target. As if entranced, Christine was slowly climbing the stairs to meet him.

"No," I breathed.

My feet acted before I even thought that I should – hurrying forward, finding small paths between people frozen in fright. Christine had come to stop two steps down from him, staring up as he reached for her. I rather roughly pushed Carlotta out of my way, which didn't prove to be an easy task.

"_Your chains are still mine!  
You will sing for me!"_

Christine gave a little, startled scream as he forcefully pulled a chain from her neck. I reached the bottom of the stairs. For a short moment, I felt positive that he had seen me – and then he was gone; smoke was covering the stairs and the girls were screaming again.

As the smoke cleared I found that Christine was still standing at the exact same place, staring up to where her Angel of Music had disappeared.


	9. Hounded Out By Everyone

**Thanks to everyone who read, alerted and a special thanks to those who review. You make my day :)**

* * *

I opened the door after a cautious knock and my eyebrows shot up at the unexpected visitor.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," I said. "What a surprise. Please, do come in."

"Thank you," he said, strolling into my room as I stepped aside.

He stood in the middle of it, looking around, seemingly unsure of what he was about to do or say.

"I would offer you to sit," I said, not quite as pleasantly as I was supposed to sound, "But I'm in quite a hurry."

He took in the mantle I had laid out and the sheets placed neatly on the desk.

"Where do you plan to go?"

"Visit to a friend, Monsieur," I answered drily.

He sighed, finally turning around to face me again. "I know that you know."

"Know what?"

"That you know more – about the phantom."

"Monsieur, there is no phantom," I said. "You have said so yourself and you were right. Now, if you will excuse me-"

"No, I won't!" he interrupted me harshly. "For all our sakes, you need to share your information... There are lives at risk."

"I really don't know how I could help you," I said defiantly.

"You know about the phantom – you know that man! Tell me who he is!"

"Who he is? I would never presume to know who someone is. A man like him, nonetheless..."

"So you admit that you know him?" the Vicomte urged, taking a step towards me.

"I guess I could say that," I answered carefully, walking around him and leaning against my desk. "What do you want to know, Monsieur?"

"Madame Giry said-"

"You have talked to Madame Giry?" I interrupted, alarmed. Would she have – but she wouldn't have told him where Erik could be found, would she? She would not have betrayed him like that...

"Yes. She told me about his face – deformed-"

"From birth," I added and he flinched slightly.

"How bad-?"

"It's not pretty," I told him matter-of-factly. "But I don't see how that matters."

The Vicomte started pacing the room. "It fits him, though. This mon-"

"Don't you dare!"

His head snapped around to look at me where I glared at him furiously.

"He is not a monster."

"You seem to pity him," he said and it sounded rather accusingly.

I was almost shaking with anger at the nerve of this man. How dare he judge Erik by something so unimportant as his face – had he accused him of the murder, or his threats, or the general danger he was for the opera, I would have understood. But this!

"_Hounded out by everyone!  
Met with hatred everywhere!  
No kind word from anyone!  
No compassion anywhere!_

Why, Monsieur, why? It is not right, that he should be judged by something that he cannot change - an outward appearance! That man is a genius! Have you had a look at the opera yet? It's his greatest work! He's a musician, architect, inventor. He has but one flaw-"

"His face-"

"His temper!" I hissed. "And what do people do? Lock him in a cage for public display! Mock him, abuse him – his own mother didn't want to look at him. It's not right, I tell you. It's not right."

I turned around so that I didn't have to look at him. I, myself, was surprised by my sudden outburst. My eyes fixed on the sheets on my desk. It was the Sonata, which I intended to give back to Erik.

"If he isn't a monster – why does he torment Christine so? What does he

want with her?"

"He loves her!" I replied hotly. "Believe me, I don't know why, either." I turned to look at him again, hoping that I had my mimics under control. "But he loves her. It's just that he doesn't believe that he can be loved. So he results by haunting her, hoping to intimidate her into being with him..."

"That's sick."

I shrugged slightly. "People do strange things for love, Monsieur."

He frowned at me and sank onto the chair I had not offered him. "So, you are going to meet him? We could make sure you are accompanied – gendarmes, we can end this now..."

"No," I snapped. "No, we won't."

"But, Mademoiselle-"

"Even if I wanted to do that, which I don't, it would be completely useless. He has set traps all the way down to his home; a bulk of people could never make it through."

I didn't know if that was true or not. At the very least, it was close to the truth. I shivered as I remembered the last time I had fallen into one of his traps...

"Then don't go, Mademoiselle! That man is dangerous! Who knows what he might do to you..."

I smiled wryly at him. "The worst he can do is leave me standing in the dark. I am not afraid, Monsieur and I don't need to be."

"Have you known that he is still here? During the last months-"

"I couldn't imagine that he was gone. This is his Opera House, Monsieur. But I haven't heard from him. See, we had a small disagreement-"

He bolted upright. "Is that why he dropped the chandel-"

"No!" I snapped again. "No, he dropped the chandelier because of your little tryst with Miss Daaé."

The Vicomte seemed baffled as he took my words in. "But how... how would he have known?"

"The phantom knows everything that happens in this opera. And even if he didn't – you and Miss Daaé are much more obvious than you would like to be."

He got up again, starting to pace my room once more. "Does she have to fear him?"

"I doubt he'll really harm her, physically," I told him-

"You think he'll take her? She fears it-"

"He might," I said. "It would fit everything he has done so far..."

"If he did," the Vicomte urged, "Would you try and get him to relent – would you beg for Christine-?"

"If he did," I said slowly, "I would do anything in my power to make sure that she was all right. But I can't and won't do anything more. You have to understand, Monsieur, that I owe him a lot. I regard him as a friend and I would never think of betraying him."

"So you are on his side!" he accused.

"No one else is," I retorted. "If people hadn't been so cruel in the first place, I wouldn't have to make up for it. Now, if you excuse me."

I gathered the sheets and reached for my mantle as he grabbed my wrist. I almost hissed at the sudden contact and forcefully pulled my hand away to glare at him.

"Don't touch me!"

Much to his credit, he backed off at once, holding up both hands defensively.

"I didn't mean to-"

"But you did. Don't ever touch me again." I pulled the mantle from the chair it had laid upon and moved to the door. "Monsieur, you have to leave."

"How will I know you are safe? What if you don't return?"

I rolled my eyes at his misplaced worry – why was he worrying about me in the first place? "If I have not returned by the morning, Madame Giry will know where to look."

"If you would just tell me-"

So that was it, I realized. He just hoped to know how to get down to Erik's home. Did he think me so stupid? It was insulting at the very best...

"Look here, Monsieur," I said pointedly. "I am not dumb and I am not a traitor. Go and bother someone else – I'm not the one to turn to. If you are plotting to murder him, you better keep me out of it. You can be sure that I will tip him off otherwise. And now. Get out of my room and out of my way. I have places to be."

Hadn't I seen it, I would have never believed that the Vicomte's expression could turn so cold. But alas, it happened before my very eyes. Even though I tried to keep a stiff upper lip, it was bone-chilling; and I was more than glad when he bowed slightly and whirled around, storming off and leaving the door wide open.  
I let out a deep, shattered breath that felt like it had been held for ages. I would have to warn Erik. Behind this handsome facade lay a man that he shouldn't take too lightly.

* * *

"Erik? Erik?"

I climbed out of the boat and looked around for any sign of him. He had left the boat on the other side of the lake – meaning that he had chosen the other way to return. But why? It didn't seem like him at all to make a change of plans, and such a one that left him without an escape route should someone find the entry to his home...

My eyes found the large mirror and I frowned slightly as I saw that his cape was thrown over it. That could only mean that he was without his mask.

"Erik?" I called again.

Behind me, a strangled breath echoed through the underground place. I whirled around to find him staring at me. He had in fact not put on his mask – it was what struck me first. It always did, after all this time. I pulled myself together and took in the rest of his appearance – he wasn't quite as composed as he usually was, the upper two buttons of his shirt still undone and his hair wet.

"Don't go mental on me," I warned. "I called for you to warn you-"

"Let me get my mask," he muttered, turning away.

"Leave it," I said. "I don't mind."

He turned to me again, but he kept his eyes on the floor as if he didn't dare to meet my gaze. I had only very rarely seen him without his mask – and he was always quick to put it back on. It seemed he was a different man without it. At the very least, he was much less confident without this protection.

"Why are you here? I thought you had left me for good."

I gulped. "See, today... today I thought – what if you had died? What if you were gone and I didn't even know? What if you were ill and no one was there to care for you? What if... scared me, it did. So I decided I had to see you."

"Why would you care if I was dead or alive?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just know I would."

He was silent for a while and then he squared his shoulders. "So, then what? You thought you'd come down here and apologize-"

"I didn't plan to apologize," I said. "What I said back when was uncalled for, but you provoked it. We are both at fault, which makes apologies unnecessary."

He frowned at me slightly and then shrugged. He walked away from me to a table in the kitchen and reached for his mask which was carefully laid out in the middle of it.

I sighed. "Can't you live without that for a few moments? What have I done wrong that you feel the need to shield yourself from me?"

"Shield myself from you?" he repeated as he picked up the mask. "How is this about you?"

I took a few steps forward and grabbed his wrist before he could put the mask back on. "I'm not cowering in fear, am I? I'm not repulsed. I'm not mocking you, either. Why do you hide?"

Erik forcefully jerked his hand away from me, causing the mask to fly through the air and clatter on the ground a few feet away from us. Our eyes met and I swallowed hard.

"You are lying," he said matter-of-factly. "I don't know why, but you are lying. No one could look at me without being repulsed."

"You know what repulses me about you?" I asked hotly. "Your stubbornness."

I walked over and bent down, picking up the mask. I held it out for him and he took it without another look at me.

"_Masquerade...  
__Paper faces on parade.  
__Masquerade...  
__Hide your face so the world  
__can never find you."_

I sighed again, turning to fully look at him once more. He had put it back on, the white of the mask shining brightly against the darkness of his hair.

"I had a look at your opera," I said, passing him on my way over to the organ. "Monsieur Reyer made me look through it for the ballet pieces."

"Two."

"I know," I said. "We worked on those..."

I didn't know if he followed me, it was hard to tell without looking. He was always so silent, his footsteps never gave him away.

"I have brought you the Sonata back," I told him. "It is very beautiful. Many have-" I interrupted myself at what I found lying on top of various sheets. I reached out to take it, carefully lifting the ring by the chain that held it. "What is that?"

Whether he had been there before didn't matter anymore, for within seconds, he had ripped the ring away from me. "Christine...," he muttered.

"That was what you – is that an engagement ring?" I asked.

"Seems very much like it."

"So she and the Vicomte – oh, and he dares to blame me," I exclaimed.

"She and the Vicomte, indeed," Erik muttered.

"Listen, Erik – you need to be careful. He plans to take you down, he won't show any mercy if he has the chance! He's tried to get me on his side-"

"And what keeps you from agreeing?" Erik asked tiredly. "I am telling you, it won't make any difference."

"If you really believed I would betray you, you wouldn't let me live," I stated calmly. "And I am not... going to betray you."

"You could."

"I never said I couldn't. I just said that I won't do it."

"And why?" he inquired.

"I don't know. I just know that-"

"This is twice tonight that you have given me the same answer," he snapped, irritated. "Yet it doesn't answer any questions!"

"Well, you'll just have to deal," I retorted. "Just because you demand answers doesn't mean I can give them. Now please – tell me about your opera."

This turned his mind quite effectively from our disagreements to the thing we agreed on – the beauty of his music.


End file.
